


Do You Wanna? (All the practice in the world won't get me good at loneliness)

by Aenaria



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, F/M, Gen, Inspired By Tumblr, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenaria/pseuds/Aenaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hotel bar is the last place Bucky Barnes would ever expect to find himself.  It’s also the very last place he would ever expect to spot the lead singer of his favorite band, one Ms. Natasha Romanoff.  But life has a way of surprising him, Bucky knows, and Natasha is nothing but one big surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Wanna? (All the practice in the world won't get me good at loneliness)

**Author's Note:**

> So a kind anon requested on my blog “Bucky x Natasha, celebrity/fan AU” for a short fic meme I put up. Well, as I seem to be incapable of writing anything really short, and I find myself more and more intrigued by this little alternate universe that’s building here, this ends up being the result. I hope you enjoy it - I had a lot of fun working on this.
> 
> My deepest thanks to Meri, Rainne, Eyebrowsofjustice, Hxans, and Mcgregorswench for being my sounding board and other eyes on the piece as I worked on it, and to everyone on my blog who offered me support and cheered me on - you guys are the absolute best. :)
> 
> Title from Amanda Palmer’s ‘Do It With a Rockstar’, which is pretty much what I listened to for a couple of weeks straight as I worked on this piece.

A hotel bar has never been Bucky Barnes's spot of choice when it comes to drinking. But when the guys from his old squad are in town and don't feel like leaving the hotel in order to tie one on, well, Bucky'll just follow the crowd then. 

 

Steve, the shithead (and former squad Captain), had bailed out on drinks stating he had to go visit his mother, even though Bucky knows full well the only time Steve ever dresses up that nicely to see her is on Easter and Mother's Day. 

 

It's the middle of June. That, and Bucky knows full well Mrs. Rogers is away in the Poconos for a week with her partner.

 

In any case, the lying weasel said he'd do brunch with them on Sunday, leaving Bucky to handle the Friday night festivities. Despite the fact that it is still early in the night (all right, 12:30 am is early only by New York City standards), things are already winding down and Bucky is still far more sober than he'd intended on being. He takes another slow sip of his bourbon, feeling the slight burn as it slides down his throat. 

 

There’s a scuffle coming from one corner of the bar, right by the partition to the lobby, followed quickly by a murmured voice that’s no doubt designed to be suave but instead sounds, well, drunk off its ass.  On the stool next to Bucky Jim Morita shifts, looking over his shoulder, and then sighs deeply.  “And that’ll be Dum-Dum attempting to hit on a potted plant.”

 

“I think it’s past his bedtime,” Bucky says, smirking as he looks at the man who’s up close and personal with a palm tree.  It’s kind of nice to know, however, that not everything has changed since he and Steve had been discharged.  Dum-Dum’s still overly fond of his whiskey, and all is right with the world.

 

As he spins his stool around to face his own drink, Bucky catches sight of a young woman sitting at the bar just a short ways away from them.  Her eyes are intent on the laptop screen in front of her, but every so often she flicks them over in Dum-Dum’s direction and the slightest of grins crosses her lips.  There’s something kind of familiar about her, but Bucky can’t put his finger on it, not yet.  

 

“Least I’m not sharing a room with him tonight,” Morita says, bringing Bucky around to face him fully once more.  He shakes his head, as if he’s trying to clear it, and then slips off of his stool with a certain gracelessness.  Morita picks up his drink, clinks it hard against Bucky’s glass, and throws it back in one quick gulp.  “Monty’s got that honor.  He can deal with the snoring.  See you on Sunday, Buck.”  

 

“See you then, man.  Don’t get lost trying to find your room.”

 

Morita flips him off as he saunters away to herd Dum-Dum to his bed.  

 

Bucky turns back to his drink once more, shaking his head with a rueful grin across his face.  These are the guys he’s chosen to call brothers.  Assholes, the whole lot of them, and he wouldn’t trade them for anything.  He hears the woman huff lightly, and he looks over at her again, trying to figure out where he knows her from.

 

She’s fairly compact, though the arms revealed by her tank top are well defined and muscular.  Possessing only one natural arm himself, he notices these things now more than he ever did before.  Her face is clean, no obvious makeup, the only thing on her face a pair of square-framed glasses that are falling down her nose.  She’s hunched over slightly, leaning into her computer like it’s the only thing in the world, even though he knows that the Howlers caught her eyes before.  Her hair’s a bright, deep red color, possibly unnatural or enhanced, and pulled back tight into a short ponytail.  

 

When it finally hits him about where he recognizes her from (and really, he should have caught onto it far earlier considering he’s the proud owner of all of Latrodectus’s albums and a few other Japanese imports that were obtained through suspect sources), his mouth decides to outrun his brain when it comes to formulating the proper things to say to her.  “Aren’t you usually covered in more glitter?” he blurts out.

 

The woman, the lead singer of Latrodectus herself, Natasha Romanoff, slowly looks up at him, with a glare that would wither a lesser man.  Not that Bucky needs any help withering at the moment, as he drops his face into his palm, hoping the metal surface will at least cool some of the burning in his cheeks and that his hair will cover up any remaining redness in his face.  ‘Nice going, you fucking idiot,’ he thinks.  He’s not at all ashamed about his fanboy tendencies, but Steve’s definitely not going to let him forget this one anytime soon.  

 

He’s mentally plotting how he can take away Steve’s Instagram feed in revenge for any potential embarrassment that ends up being tossed his way (Steve is unhealthily obsessed with Instagram, everyone knows this, and it’d be the perfect punishment for the punk), when Natasha’s voice breaks into his thoughts.  “You know, you’re lucky you’re cute,” she says, rather coolly, “otherwise I just might throw this computer at you.”

 

Bucky just groans softly, peeking out at her through the curtain of his hair.  Natasha’s got one hand gripping the side of the laptop’s screen, and her face looks like it’s been set in a carefully neutral expression.  “How about I just buy you a drink as an apology and I go home and forget this ever happened?” he mutters.

 

Natasha closes the laptop and quirks an eyebrow in his direction.  “I’ll take a vodka tonic, and I wouldn’t mind your company for a bit longer.  I don’t often run into people who are as...honest as you are in my line of work.  And you’re right.  I’m usually wearing enough glitter when I’m on stage that I’m still finding it in my shoes for days after.”

 

He shakes his head, lifting it out of his hand and motioning to the bartender.  “I’m usually better at controlling my tongue, Miss Romanoff, I promise you.”

 

“Call me Nat,” she says, leaning forward so she can rest crossed forearms on the bar.  “And like I said, don’t hold back.  Honesty and bluntness is a rarity for me.”

 

“I like to think I at least have a little tact,” Bucky says, “though if you want blunt honesty I can provide that too.”

 

The bartender comes over, and Bucky orders the drinks for them.  The conversation is put on hold until he comes back, and for the briefest moment he thinks that maybe it’s a good time to make his escape and leave while he’s got a little bit of dignity left.  He will not act like a fanboy in front of Natasha Romanoff...no matter how much his inner fan is screaming in glee at the last few minutes.  But then, after she’s taken the first sip of her drink and nodded in approval, she turns back to him with a sharp look in her eyes.  “Being honest,” she starts, clicking her nails against the icy cold glass in her hands, “what did you think of our last album?”

 

Bucky opens his mouth, ready to say that the album was brilliant and he’s listened to it over and over.  But then he snaps it shut again, trying to collect his thoughts.  She wants honesty, he thinks, and the honest truth?  “A couple of songs on there were amazing.  The last track, and the one where you were singing about panicking.  That one kind of resonated.  But the rest of the album?”  He pauses to take another drink of bourbon, and purses his lips, trying to find the right words.  

 

“Go on,” Natasha prompts him.  

 

“The songs weren’t bad, not by far, but they weren’t as good at some of the ones you’ve done in the past.  And they didn’t seem to fit together, if that makes sense.  Like the album was kind of disjointed.”  Bucky shrugs.  She wanted honest, after all. 

 

Natasha nods once in response, and takes a drink of her own vodka.  “Thank you,” she says.  “And I can’t say I disagree with you.  Though I might be biased - those two songs you liked were the ones that I wrote.  The rest of the album can be credited to whoever the label brought in.”

 

“I guess I’ve just got good taste then,” Bucky says, giving her a wink for good measure.  Maybe it’s the bourbon, but he’s starting to think a little flirting is not a bad idea.  At least until she shoots him down.  But he’s always been a flirt; it’s partly ingrained by now.  The other part is flirting on behalf of Steve, who has never been even remotely suave in his entire life.

 

He has the passing thought that if Steve hadn’t ditched out on them tonight, then this entire conversation with his fanboy crush might not have even happened, so whaddya know, sometimes these things just work out.

 

“I think you just might,” she replies, lips curved in a tiny smile.  “What’s your name again?  It occurs to me that I haven’t actually asked for it yet.”

 

“James Barnes.  Or Bucky.”

 

“Either or?”

 

“My given name is James, but everyone - even my mother - calls me Bucky.  Old childhood nickname that just sort of stuck around.”

 

“It’s kind of old fashioned.  Not really a name you hear often.”

 

Bucky nods.  “You’re not wrong.”  He pushes some hair out of his face with the metal arm, and notices how her eyes follow its movements.  She doesn’t say anything, however, which makes him feel a little more at ease.  It’s not like he’s hiding that he’s got a prosthetic, but talking about the circumstances that led up to it are never the easiest thing.  Especially as the loss of his arm pretty much put the nail in the coffin of his military career.

 

“So tell me a little bit about Bucky then?” Natasha asks.  “How did you end up in a place like this?”  She waves a hand around the bar, which is looking rather empty and kind of pathetic for a late Friday night/really early Saturday morning.  It’s not an unattractive bar, full of polished wood and gleaming brass, but it is a bit traditional.  Traditional translating into that the usual patrons have an average age of 65.  Not exactly the place that you’d expect to find a young rockstar holing up in, and definitely not a place where Bucky would usually go to prop up the bar.

 

“Bucky is here because this is where his friends are staying, and his friends didn’t want to shell out for a taxi in order to get drunk,” he says, making a vague, waving motion above his head to where the Howlies are ostensibly passed out asleep.  “Despite the fact that aside from my time in the Army I’ve lived in this city my entire life and can think of at least ten better places to go drink off of the top of my head.”

 

“So you’re a local, and an Army boy.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” he replies, tossing off a quick salute with his right hand.

 

“Ex-Army, I presume.”

 

Bucky purses his lips quickly.  “What gave it away?” he says, calmly enough that it doesn’t betray how much his blood pressure’s skyrocketed in the last few seconds.

 

“The fact that you’re sitting here with me and not on a base somewhere,” Natasha says with a sly grin.

 

“That is true,” he nods, smiling back at her as his pulse stops thundering in his throat.  “So what about you?  Why is Natasha Romanoff holed up in this charming bar instead of one of the very nice rooms upstairs?”

 

The grin slips off of Natasha’s face, twisting into something a lot more unpleasant, and she looks down at her vodka.  “It’s not all fun and games, being in a band,” she says softly, eyes still on the glass.  “There’s a lot to know about this business, and it’s full of shitheads.  Someone’s got to make sure that we don’t get fucked over by it, by our label, by our manager, by anyone out there who thinks cozying up to us can get them a foothold in the world...everyone.”  She drinks, rolls the vodka around in her mouth briefly, and swallows roughly enough that Bucky can see the movements of her throat.  “So while my idiot bandmates are upstairs getting trashed with a bunch of groupies, I’m down here where it’s a lot quieter looking at paperwork and other details because they’re too fucking stupid to read the contracts before they sign them.”

 

Bucky’s enough of a fan that he’s up to date about what’s going on with the band members of Latrodectus, but he’s not seen any mention of internal strife happening.  Most of the members - especially Natasha - are pretty private people, but there’s always someone claiming to have inside info on the message boards.  And this is the first time he’s hearing anything like this.  “You don’t sound like you like your bandmates all that much,” he says carefully.

 

“They’re good kids,” Natasha says, shaking her head briefly.  “But that’s it - they’re kids.  Riding high on internet fame and marginal fortune, and ignoring the fact that this business can and will eat them up and spit them out once they’re done with them.  We don’t always mesh well, if that makes sense.  We didn’t develop...organically.”  She shrugs, and motions down at the laptop.  “So I do my paperwork, learn more about the business in the process, and maybe, someday, I can make the music I want to make instead of what the label thinks is profitable.”

 

He looks over at her, sees how her face is turned downward and her hand flexes slightly every so often around her glass.  “Can I be bluntly honest?” Bucky asks, and Natasha nods.  “That sounds kinda lonely.”

 

Natasha huffs lightly, looking back up at him again.  “You’re not wrong.”  She finishes off the rest of her vodka, and nods at the bartender for another.  “All right, Bucky Barnes,” she says, straightening up like she’s shaking off the darker thoughts.  “Tell me a little bit more about growing up in this bright light of a city.”

 

The next hour passes incredibly quickly as they get lost in the conversation, talking about growing up in their respective cities, friends, family, and anywhere else the words take them.  It’s more fun than Bucky’s had in a long, long time, and after a while it becomes harder to see the rockstar whose face is on the album covers stored in his phone and much easier to see the person behind the lyrics.  There’s a slight flush across Natasha’s cheeks thanks to another glass of vodka, and her head’s propped up on a hand as she laughs at Bucky’s latest story.

 

“Okay, you are making that up.  There’s no way that could have happened.”

 

Bucky shakes his head and raises his hands in the air.  “I swear to you, it did.  I even have a witness too, and trust me, Steve will back me up.  Especially as I end up looking like a jackass at the end of it.”

 

Natasha laughs at him, though it’s not at all malicious.  “It doesn’t sound that bad.”

 

From the other side of the lobby there’s a loud burst of laughter, followed by a rattling mix of footsteps and a couple of sounds of things crashing into each other.  Bucky glances over his shoulder, trying to find the source of the noise, but the pillars and potted trees block most of the views of the lobby and the concierge area where the elevators are located.  The laughter continues, getting marginally louder.  When Bucky turns back to face Natasha, he finds that any amusement has dropped off of her face and she’s sitting ramrod straight on her stool.  “What is it?” he asks.

 

“Those would be my dear, sweet, bandmates,” Natasha says with a heavy sigh.  “I guess the peace couldn’t last.”

 

Bucky looks hard at her as his mind whirrs into action.  He doesn’t want this night to end, wants to keep that lonely, lost look from taking up residence on Natasha’s face again, at least for a little while.  “Do you wanna get out of here?” he blurts out before he can actually think about what he’s saying.

 

He’s been doing a lot of that blurting tonight, but as it’s worked so far, why buck the trend?

 

Natasha glances over at the lobby, where the noises are getting louder.  Over the din they can hear someone from the front desk ask them to quiet down, which is just met with more intoxicated giggles.  She frowns slightly, her brow wrinkling.  

 

Bucky slides off the stool, and holds his hand out to her.  “There’s a side exit by the toilets in the back,” he says.  “We can be out of here before they even notice us.”

 

She’s still for the briefest moment, but then her lips curl up, just slightly.  “Well, who better to show me around this town than a local boy?” Natasha says as she shoves her laptop quickly into the bag draped over the back of her stool.

 

The noises are even closer now, but Bucky really doesn’t care.  He knows they can get the hell away before Natasha’s bandmates even know they were in the bar.  Another grin spreads across his face when Natasha leaps off her stool, grabs his metal hand with hers, and allows him to lead her into the small passage leading to the toilets and the exit.  

 

The alley itself is quiet and shadowy, the street lamps casting odd yellow patches on the concrete with the sounds of cars passing on the main road echoing off of the tall buildings around them.  Still, it’s far more peaceful than inside the hotel, and Bucky allows himself to take in a deep, giddy breath.  “So, where are we going to go?” Natasha asks him, leaning into his side as they walk towards the main road.

 

Bucky looks down at her, seeing the tendrils of hair falling out of her ponytail and the grip she’s still got on his fingers, and he finds himself smiling once more.  He’s been doing a lot of that tonight.  It’s kind of nice, really.  “What are your thoughts on Brooklyn?” he asks.

 

“Lead on, local boy.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I’m not saying that there’s definitely going to be a second part to this story, I don’t want to promise that...but don’t be surprised if another chapter pops up. Just sayin’. Keep an eye on my tumblr if you want to know more: aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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